Faded Memories of a Picture Perfect
by sams1ra
Summary: Continuing the Picture Perfect 'verse. A collection of oneshots about Wee!Dean after the fire. Each one is a standalone.
1. The bad man

A/N: Part of the Picture Perfect 'verse.

John is… well… you've seen John in the show, right? You're gonna need a tissue for this one. Don't say I didn't warn you…

Beta love: Thanks, Historylover, for your help.

Disclaimer: I own nothing supernatural related. Isn't that sad?

Faded Memories of a Picture Perfect

November 3rd, 1983

Dawn broke a couple of hours ago. The last of the fire trucks had finally left the scene. The 'scene' that used to be the Winchester home. The 'scene' which was now mostly smoke and chars.

Sammy wasn't crying anymore. He was sleeping, fell asleep in Daddy's arms a while ago, and now someone took him. They wanted to take Dean, too. To the hospital, maybe, said he might have inhaled too much smoke. But Dean wouldn't leave his father's side. Couldn't. He had let go of Mommy, and now Mommy wasn't coming back. Dean wouldn't let go of Sammy either, but Daddy promised Sam would be back, that Sam needed sleep and a clean diaper, and Dean had let him go. He had trusted Dad, and Dad had said Sammy would be all right.

* * *

People. So many people around. Talking, saying meaningless stuff, bringing food. It's like they thought if there was food around, he might not remember that Mommy wasn't there anymore to cook for them. Grown ups sure were stupid sometimes.

They talked a lot at first, but they didn't talk _to_ him. They sort of talked around him. Like he wasn't even there. Saying things he didn't understand, talking about him, about Sammy. Their words were filled with sympathy and grown up talk, asking questions and not really waiting for him to answer. So Dean stopped trying.

No one was listening anymore anyway. Not even Dad. No one but Sammy, and Sammy was too little to understand anyway. Dean figured Sammy couldn't understand the words anyway, so he just hummed to his brother whenever Sammy wanted someone to talk to. Sometimes just holding his little hand was enough.

Sammy didn't like all those people around, didn't like Mom's friends' house. Sammy wanted back in his nursery. Dean understood that. He wanted back in his room, too. He wanted back home. He wanted his Mommy back. This was her friend, it wasn't polite not to show up, and Mommy said to always be polite.

* * *

Hot. It was so hot. And the smell… Smoke! He can smell smoke!

Dean jerked awake, eyes wide, heart pounding. He looked around, recognizing nothing. This was not his room, not his bed, and everything smelled like smoke. It was choking him, he couldn't breathe, and he still couldn't remember where he was – only that he went to sleep in a bed next to Daddy. And Daddy wasn't there now.

It was hot. So unbelievingly hot and suffocating. And Daddy was gone.

Dean jumped out of the bed, looked everywhere in the room, even under the bed and in the closet, just in case. But Daddy wasn't there. Daddy was gone. The fire took him, too, like it did Mommy. Dean's heart was beating so fast, so loudly he couldn't hear the roar of the fire, but he knew it was there. Could smell it. Could feel the heat.

Maybe the fire didn't take Daddy this time? Maybe it took _him_? Tears of terror and desperation were pooling in the toddler's eyes. He was shivering, which was kind of funny, considering it was so hot and suffocating. He didn't want the fire to take him. Unless… Would the fire take him to Mommy? He missed his Mommy. But he was too scared of the fire, too scared of the heat and the smoke and…

A soft snore. He could hear a little baby snore. Sammy.

Dean wiped the tears from his eyes, but the heat was stinging and his eyes watered again. Tears fell down his cheeks. He didn't want the fire to take him. Or Mommy, or Daddy, or Sammy. He wanted to go home, back to his room, with Mommy and Daddy down the hall. He wanted Mommy to finish the story they'd been reading. He wanted to play catch in the backyard with Daddy. He wanted Sammy to be big enough to play with them.

But it was so hot and everything smelled like smoke, and Dean's breath hitched. There was no air in the room. The fire was coming.

Daddy was gone.

He couldn't let the fire take Sammy, too. He wouldn't.

So he climbed into his brother's crib, shielding his baby brother with his own body. The fire wasn't going to take Sammy away, too. Even though Sam smelt like smoke. Everything smelt like smoke, and it was so hard to breathe. Dean scooted closer to the baby. He couldn't fall asleep. He had to keep watch, had to watch out for Sammy. He wouldn't let the fire take Sammy, too. He couldn't fall asleep. He wouldn't…

* * *

"Dean, you can't sleep in your brother's crib. You're too big. You don't want it to break, do you?" someone picked him up. It didn't smell like smoke anymore. It smelt like Sammy and baby spit. "Come on, buddy." He knew the voice. Recognized the touch. Daddy! The fire didn't take Daddy away!

Dean clung to John for dear life, holding as tightly as his little arms could. And then he pulled away, confused. Daddy smelt funny. It made him cough a little, like the smoke, but differently.

"Come on, let's get you to bed." And then Daddy put him down on the bed, but Dean didn't let go. Wouldn't let go, ever. He had let Mommy go, and Mommy didn't come back. The fire took her when the angels weren't looking. "That's enough, Dean. Time to sleep. Let go!"

Dean frowned and looked up at his father. It was not his Daddy. It looked like him, but it wasn't his Daddy. Daddy didn't have red eyes like that, didn't smell this bad, not even with the smoke. And Daddy didn't talk to him like that. Ever. Not unless he was very, very angry. And he never shook Dean off like that, never pushed him away, not like this.

This wasn't his Daddy. It couldn't be.

"I said, go to sleep! That's an order!"

And Dean's heart was pounding again, because he didn't recognize the man next to him. It wasn't his room, it wasn't his house, and it wasn't his Daddy. Maybe the fire did take Daddy. What if the fire would take Sammy next, bring something else instead of his little brother?

Dean was scared now, terrified. He had to protect Sammy. He couldn't let the fire take Sammy. He tried scrambling out of bed again, tried getting back in the crib, only to be pulled away, nearly tossed back in the bed.

"Stop that! I told you to stop! Go to sleep!" and tears fell down Dean's cheeks. He didn't know who this man who looks like his Daddy was, but he didn't like him. "Stop that! Stop crying! Big boys don't cry!" the man shook him, "You're a big boy, aren't you?" and Dean really didn't feel like a big boy right then. Daddy was gone, and Dean called for his Mommy. He didn't mean to, he knew Mommy was gone, but he was scared, and Daddy was gone and there was someone else here, pretending he was Daddy. So Dean called for his Mommy.

The man who wasn't Daddy flinched away as if he were hit by lightning.

"Shut up!" he had said in a low, shaky voice, and it just scared Dean more. "I said shut up about her! You hear? She's gone! You got that? Your Mommy's gone! And she ain't never coming back! You hear?" and then Dean started sobbing. And Sammy, too, because the scary man woke him up. The scary man looked from Dean to Sam and back.

"Why couldn't you just go to sleep?" he murmured, running a hand through his hair.

"John, is everything okay?" a woman, Mom's friend, poked her head through the door.

"I can't… I can't deal with them right now." The scary man had said, getting up and leaving the room. The woman looked back after him, sighed, and got in the room. She picked Sammy up and sat down on the bed next to Dean. She pulled him over, putting his head in her lap and stroking his hair and his back, like Mommy used to do. But she wasn't Mommy. Mommy was gone. She wasn't coming back.

And now Daddy was gone, too.

"Don't worry, baby. He's just grieving." The woman said, rubbing circles on Dean's back. "It'll be okay. Everything will be okay, you'll see." She said, trying to sooth him, sooth the both of them. "Give him a few more days, sweetheart. Your Daddy will pull through."

"He's not my Daddy." Dean whispered, hiccupping.

"Aw, of course he is, baby." The woman said, pulling Dean closer. "He's just sad, is all. He misses your Mommy."

"I miss Mommy." Dean said, and started crying again, soundlessly this time.

"I know, honey. I know." The woman said, kissing the top of his head, like Mommy used to do. "It's going to be okay, you'll see." She said. "In a couple of days, your Daddy will calm down. He'll remember how to be a Daddy again, I promise. You just have to be a good boy until then. Can you do that, Dean? Can you be a good boy?"

And Dean didn't say anything, because it wasn't his Daddy. His Daddy was gone, just like his Mommy. Mommy wasn't coming back. And he really wished he could have gone with her, because Mommy would never be this mean.

The bad man was back the next morning. Short tempered and foul smelling, and all Dean wanted was his Mommy and Daddy back. He had stopped talking, because talking made the bad man mean. The bad man was so mean he even yelled at Sammy when he cried, but Sammy couldn't help it, he was just a baby. So Dean would crawl into Sammy's crib and hold him, and help change and feed him so he wouldn't cry. Because Sammy was the only one Dean had left anymore. The fire hadn't taken Sammy yet. And Dean was really starting to wish it had, because that would have made it easier to go with him.

The End

A/A/N: There's another oneshot about the days after the fire in the works, but it's gonna take me a while to get it done. I hope you enjoyed this oneshot. Reviews are always loved )


	2. 1983 and 1984

Disclaimer: I own nothing supernatural related. Isn't that sad?

A/N: Part of the Picture Perfect 'verse. Please keep in mind that this story is told mostly from Dean's perspective. You're gonna need a tissue for this one. Don't say I didn't warn you… Oh, and they won't ALL be sad, I promise…

Also, this story doesn't really comply with the timeline as seen in John's journal, and I don't consider Origins as canon.

Faded Memories of a Picture Perfect

Lawrence, Kansas, 1983

They said it'd take a couple of weeks. They said the mean man really _was_ Daddy, that Daddy was just sad, that he was so sad he must've forgotten what it meant, being a daddy. They said to give him a few days.

So.

Grown ups didn't know any better than kids. Or they were really stupid. Because it's been _weeks_ and Daddy was still mean and scary.

Dean'd figured out the smell though. Drinking. Grown-Up Juice – that's what Mom's friend had called it. Said it made you do and say stupid and mean things.

Dean couldn't understand why his Dad would want to drink something that would make him mean and stupid. He'd asked his Dad once. He was _never_ making that mistake again, because Daddy had gone out then, and didn't come back for three whole days. Dean didn't ask anything after that, afraid his father would leave again, and this time, won't come back at all.

Dean'd started thinking then. Did he say something to Mommy to make her want to go away and never come back? He must have. Dean didn't know what it was, but he must have. He tried to apologize, but there was no one to apologize to, because Mommy was gone, and she wasn't ever coming back.

It's been months now, it was nearly Christmas. Everyone in kindergarten was excited, making Christmas decorations to put on the classroom walls and bring home to their parents, making decorations to put on the tree. But Dean didn't. He didn't want it to be Christmas, not without Mommy.

He wanted to write a letter to Santa, asking for his Mommy and Daddy back, but he couldn't spell most of the words. And it was stupid, anyway. There was no Santa, was there? Dean was a little afraid to ask. Grown ups lie anyway, especially to little kids.

Dean's teacher had called his father three times, wanting to meet and talk to him. Twice John had failed to show up. On the third time, he yelled at Dean's teacher and said a lot of bad words.

Dean didn't like Ms. Torres anymore after that. He used to love her, but he didn't anymore. She had made his Dad angry, made his Dad yell and walk away and drink more Grown-Up Juice. And now Daddy might get mad enough to leave.

So he really didn't like Ms. Torres anymore. He wouldn't talk to her anymore, wouldn't participate in class, wouldn't play with the other kids. He just sat in the corner and drew his pictures. Pictures of fire and darkness. Dean couldn't afford to make Daddy mad enough to leave. Sammy still needed Daddy.

Sammy was teething and crying and drooling all the time, and he had an ear infection and a fever and really missed Mommy. Dean tried his best to help, to make Sammy stop crying, but he didn't know how. So sometimes, when Daddy had left them alone in the dark, Dean joined him.

* * *

"John, you can't keep doing this. It's not right." 

"And Mary dying the way she did, that is?" John looked up from his glass of whiskey, an accusing look in his eyes. Janet sighed, sitting across from the grieving man.

"It wasn't your fault Mary died, John." She said, "And it sure as hell wasn't the boys' fault." She added pointedly. John just glared at her. "John," Janet sighed, "I know it's sometime between New Years' and Valentines', but I don't remember, and he wouldn't tell me." She said, frustrated.

"Then why can't you leave it the hell alone?" John snapped.

"Because I can't, John! Because it's his birthday, and he's five, and he just lost his mother and his home! Because he's small and he's scared and he deserves to have this!" Janet snapped back. "His teacher called here more than a dozen times. He needs help, John!"

"He's fine." John snapped again, finishing his drink and reaching for the bottle again, but Janet snatched it away.

"No. No, he's not fine! He can't be fine when he doesn't even open his Christmas presents. He can't be fine when he doesn't talk, and he sure as hell isn't fine when he doesn't want to celebrate his own birthday!"

"He'll be fine." John said gruffly, reaching for the bottle of Jack again. "He just needs more time…"

"Goddamn it, John!" Janet pounded her fist against the table, rising her voice. "The boy needs help! Professional help! Can't you see that?" she demanded. John poured himself another four fingers of Jack, swishing it around in the glass, saying nothing. Janet stared at him for a long time before she added, "And I think you need some help, too."

"Don't you tell me what I need!" John snapped, anger rising faster than his voice, "Don't you tell me how to raise my boys, Janet! Don't you dare! They're _my_ boys! Mine and Mary's!"

"Fine." Janet said tersely. "Then you raise them. You go out and get back to work. Start working on your house. Deal with your boys. They just lost their mother, they need their father!"

"You don't know!" John snapped, "You don't know anything about my boys, or me, or Mary. So don't you dare! Don't you _dare_!"

"Fine." Janet narrowed her eyes. "I tried to help you, John. God knows, I tried. For Mary and the boys, I tried. But I can't do it anymore, John. I can't help you. You need to leave." She said, taking a deep breath and pushing herself away from the table. "Thank God Mary can't see you now. She would've rolled over in her grave if she had one."

* * *

They were living with Daddy's friends now. With Mike, from Dad's garage, and his wife Kate. They had two kids, two boys, but they were older. The youngest was ten, and didn't want to play with the 'babies'. Which was fine by Dean. He didn't want to play anyway. 

All Dean wanted to do was sit with Sammy, take care of him, because someone had to. Sammy was still just a baby, he needed someone to take care of him.

* * *

Kate threw him a birthday party, with streamers and balloons and a cake. She even got him a present, but he didn't take it. All he took was a piece of cake he shared with Sammy. 

Sammy really liked the cake, kept asking for more. He seemed really happy, and Dean thought it was just wrong. Sammy shouldn't be this happy with the cake when Mommy wasn't there. He knew Sam was only a baby, but he was still a little angry at his brother, so he left him with Kate and went back to the guest bedroom, closing the door behind him and hiding behind the bed.

Daddy wouldn't even look at him when he got back, which was kind of okay, because Daddy smelled of Grown Up Juice, and Dean didn't really want the mean man to come out today. At night, he scooted nearer Sammy, and wished he could have Mommy for his birthday. But he had forgotten to blow the candles out on his cake. He shouldn't have forgotten. Now his wish won't come true. Now Mommy won't come back, and it was all his fault.

He hugged Sammy a little tighter, and hoped he won't wake Sam up with his crying.

* * *

The day with the hearts and flowers was difficult for Daddy. 

Dean remembered last year, they had Mrs. Ernestine baby-sit him while Mommy and Daddy went out to celebrate. They were really happy. He remembered asking to come along, but they said it's something for grown ups. Dean had argued that they were taking the baby, too, so he should come. He remembered Mommy laughing and kissing him, and saying she'd tell the baby to stay home with Dean and Mrs. Ernestine, but the baby was still in her belly, so he had to go wherever she was going. She promised to cover his eyes the whole time, though, so Dean wouldn't feel like he was the only one missing out on the fun. Mommy was cool that way.

A few days later, Daddy came to pick Dean up from pre-school. Dean hesitated, a little surprised. Daddy hadn't come to pick him up from school ever since Mommy went away.

And Daddy was smiling. It wasn't the way he usually smiled, but he was smiling. Sammy was twisting in his hands, excited, and started bubbling in baby talk. Dean headed over to them slowly, still not sure he wasn't dreaming. But he wasn't.

Daddy crouched, smiling at him. "Hey, buddy, how was your day?" Daddy asked. Dean gave a slight, hesitant nod. Daddy got back to his feet and took Dean's hand. They walked over to Dad's car and Dean held Sam tight to make sure he didn't crawl away.

Sammy was happy today. He kept twisting in Dean's hands, trying to grab Dean's nose and tickling him, talking baby talk and blowing spit bubbles.

Dean looked questioningly at his father when the car stopped and it wasn't Jake and Kate's house. His eyes widened in alarm. Was Daddy leaving him behind? Did he do something wrong? He didn't mean to, honest, he'll be good. _Daddy, please don't leave_…

John got out of the car and Dean was beginning to panic. John circled the car, coming to the passenger side and opening the door, taking the baby from Dean. Dean was shaking now, fighting back his tears, because Daddy got angry when he cried.

"Come on, kiddo." Daddy said, reaching his hand to help Dean out. Dean hesitated, but Daddy smiled again, so he got out. Daddy wasn't mad, he was smiling.

It took Dean a few moments to recognize the park. It's been a while since he'd last been here, since Mommy and Daddy took him here.

Sammy was squealing. He was hungry, and John gave him a soft cracker to gum on, before returning his attention back to his oldest. "What do you say, soldier? What do you want to attack first?" his father asked with a smile, crouching beside him. "How 'bout the slides?" John suggested.

Dean frowned, looking from his father to the slides and back, shaking his head, not really sure what was going on, still unsure if it were all a trick to leave him behind.

"No? Well, what about the monkey bars? You love the monkey bars." Dad suggested, jutting his chin towards the monkey bars and the sounds of kids' laughter as they ran around the park. Dean hesitated. He did love the monkey bars. He used to love the way his Mommy used to laugh and tease him about climbing them. But Mommy was gone. Dean shook his head.

Dad balanced Sam over his hip, handing the baby his water bottle. "You sure?" Dad asked, but Dean didn't answer. John sighed. "Maybe the swings? Huh? How 'bout that? You wanna go swing a little?" Dad had offered, "Sammy and I can push you. Or you can use that one," John pointed, "and then I can put Sammy on the baby swing. What do you say, tiger? You want to swing with Sammy?" but Dean didn't answer. Didn't understand what was going on, why Daddy was being so… normal. Was it a trick? Didn't Daddy realize Dean didn't want to play anymore?

John sighed, looking around the park. A few of Dean's school friends were playingin a nearby sandbox. He barely recognized them. It was Mary that was in charge of Dean's play dates, of keeping track of his friends. But he recognized these kids. Remembered Dean used to beg them to take him to the park and play with his little friends, used to talk about them all the time. Back when he was still talking.

Everyone told him Dean had stopped talking. Funny, he never really noticed it. The boy was quiet, though, and Dean, you could say many things about Dean, but quiet wasn't one of them. Not unless he was asleep. And even that wasn't guaranteed.

John had to grab a squirmy Sam as the baby tried to jump out of his hands, reaching for his brother.

"Hey, look," John pointed at the kids playing in the sandbox. "You want to go play with them? It's okay if you just want to do your thing, I'll understand if you don't want me there, cramping your style. What do you say?" Dad asked, and Dean's eyes widened in fear. Dad _was_ trying to trick him, trying to leave him behind. Dean grabbed onto the older man's pant leg. He won't let Daddy go away, he won't. "Come on." Dad said, and they all walked over to Dean's friends.

"Here, you can play with your buddies. I'll be over there with the other parents, okay?" Dad asked, and Dean narrowed his eyes. He didn't believe Daddy. Daddy hated being with the other parents. He didn't used to, but ever since Mom went away, he wouldn't even talk to other parents. Just drank Grown Up Juice. He was going to leave, and Dean wasn't going to be left behind. Not this time.

"Oh, come _on_, Dean. I'll be right over there!" Dad snapped. He was getting angry. He wanted to leave, and Dean wouldn't let him, so he was getting angry. Dean didn't care, not this time. Daddy wasn't leaving him, and that was that.

Daddy tried to trick him a few more times, but Dean wasn't fooled. Finally, Daddy just marched him back to the car, put Sammy back in his arms and drove back to Mike's place. He was angry, Dean could tell, because he was clenching his jaw and holding the wheel too tight and not looking at him. He even put on some loud music so he wouldn't have to listen to Dean if Dean had said something. But it didn't matter. He hadn't left Dean alone. He hadn't went away, and that was all that mattered. Just to make sure, though, Dean blinked extra hard, keeping the tears away. Daddy said not to cry, and Daddy was angry enough.

* * *

"You know, I don't get you." Daddy had said as he pulled the car over at the curb next to Mike's house. "You love that park. You used to beg me to take you. You'd talk about it for hours and hours. And now I'm taking you, and _this_ is how you act?" 

Yes, Dad was angry. Very angry. Dean bit the tears back, looking away, because one still managed to slip free. He quickly brushed it away. Luckily, Sam was startled by Dad's tone and started crying, so Dad didn't' notice Dean crying. He just snatched Sam out of Dean's hands and got out of the car, Dean in toe.

Daddy drank Grown Up Juice after that, so Dean got in the shower by himself. He went straight to bed after that, even though Kate had called him for dinner. He wasn't hungry. And he didn't want to see the mean man inside his Dad.

At least no one cared if he cried under the covers as long as he was quiet. Dean heard shouting from below and knew the mean man was back. Sam started to cry, and soon Jake brought him over to the crib. Dean pretended to be asleep just long enough for Jake to leave, before climbing in the crib with his brother.

Sam's lower lip was sticking out. He was still sad, still wanted to cry. Dean shifted over and found the blue stuffed bunny Sam had gotten for Christmas. Sam loved his toy and his face lit up when he saw it, tiny hands reaching for it, tiny legs kicking Dean.

Dean gave him the toy and settled back to watch as his brother alternated between putting it in his mouth and waving it around, babbling contentedly.

Dean was doing his best not to listen to the shouting from below. They'll be leaving soon. Daddy was yelling at Mom's friend, too, just before they left. Dean held onto Sam, trying to protect him from the yelling, but Sam didn't seem to care. All he cared about was that stupid bunny.

* * *

Dean didn't realize the shouting was over until the bedroom door opened and Daddy walked in. Dean held his breath. Daddy got angry when he saw Dean in Sammy's crib. He had told Dean not to get in there, and got angry when Dean didn't listen. He always made Dean climb out, saying he was too big for the crib, and then Dean had to wait until Daddy was asleep before he climbed back. Someone had to make sure Sammy didn't go away. That Sammy was safe. Because maybe, there weren't any angels. Or maybe, there just weren't enough angels to watch over them all. And someone had to look after Sammy, because, Dean figured, if he was scared, Sammy must be even more scared. He was just a baby after all. 

Dean watched Daddy with wide eyes, heart beating fast. He didn't want to go back to his bed. He wanted to stay with Sammy.

John closed the door behind him, keeping the light turned off, and leaned against the door for a long moment, not even looking at the boys. He let out a sigh before turning back and looking at the crib, finding both his sons there, as usual. He rolled his eyes. Dean knew what was coming next. He braced himself, holding onto Sammy just a little tighter.

But Daddy didn't yell. He just walked over and sat on the bed as close to the crib as possible, watching Dean and Sammy without saying anything, reaching his hand in between the bars and stroking Sam's soft baby hair. Sammy waved his bunny in his hand, chewing on its ear and looking around with interest.

And then Daddy hid his face in his hands for a long moment, before running his hands through his hair. He gave them a small smile, reaching a hand for Sammy to grab and bite. Daddy didn't seem like he was expecting it, because he snatched his hand away and said a bad word. He really should have known, Dean though, Sammy was biting everything these days, and he had had the marks to prove it. All of three teeth, but they were still sharp. And Sammy seemed amused. He looked at Dean and smiled, squealing, before hitting Dean with the bunny and then waving it around again.

And Dad laughed.

Dean froze.

He hadn't heard Dad laugh since… since Before.

"Come on, kiddo. You know the rules." Daddy said, and lifted Dean off the crib, putting him next to him on the bed. But before Dean was even settled, Dad had reached again and took Sammy out, too. Daddy leaned against the headboard, Sammy on his chest, and pulled Dean closer.

Dean's heart was racing faster than the thoughts in his head. He looked uncertainly at his father and the older man offered him a sad smile.

"He's growing up really fast, isn't he?" Daddy asked, and Dean nodded lightly. There was a long moment of silence, broken only by Sammy's babbling, before Daddy pulled Dean even closer, and Dean burrowed into his side. "I'm sorry, kiddo." Daddy said in a sad voice, and Dean looked up at him.

Dad wrapped an arm around him, holding him tight, and Dean nearly started crying, he'd missed it so much.

"I'm so sorry, kiddo." Daddy said again, but this time his voice was hoarse, and when Dean looked up, Daddy was crying. _Daddy was crying_.

"You boys… I love you boys, you know that, right?" Daddy asked, and Dean didn't answer, but this time it was because he couldn't. There was this huge lump of tears stuck in his throat. Tears spilled from his eyes, but that was okay, because Daddy was crying, too. "You boys are all I have left now." Daddy went on, "You're all I have left, and I'm not gonna let anyone take you away."

And at that, Dean could no longer hold the tears away, but that was okay, because Daddy wasn't leaving him behind. Daddy was holding him closer. Daddy was staying.

"You hear me? No one's gonna take you away from me, I promise you that." Dad said in a shaky, hoarse voice. He kissed Sammy's head, held Dean tighter.

"I know you miss your Mommy. I miss her, too. God, I miss her." Daddy said, "And she's not here anymore to tell me when I'm acting stupid. She's not here anymore to tell me I'm making a mistake, because I did." He was looking at Dean now, "I made a mistake, kiddo, I got lost and I'm so sorry." He said, a hitch in his voice. Dean didn't really understand how Daddy had gotten lost when he was right there, but Daddy kept talking. "But no one's taking you away from me, I promise, okay?" Dean just burrowed closer and Dad hugged him tight. "I know I made a mistake, Dean, and I'm sorry. You think you can give your old man a second chance?"

Dean looked up then, nodding lightly, and Dad pulled him a little higher, so he could get closer.

"So you have to talk to me, kiddo." Dad went on, and Dean frowned. "I know it's hard, I know it hurts, but you gotta talk to me, okay?" and Dean tried, he really did, but the lump of tears in his throat wouldn't let him. "You have to, Dean. You have to remind me that I still have you and Sammy. You have to talk to me so that if I get lost again, I'll remember how to come back, okay?" And this time Dean could tell Daddy wasn't really expecting him to answer. He could tell because of the way Daddy was holding him, like he used to hold him, Before.

Dean nodded. He could do that, he could help Daddy find the way if Daddy got lost. Daddy had taught him all those soldiery things, and Dean could learn more, would learn more, if it meant he could help Daddy stay Daddy, and not be the mean man who drank Grown-Up Juice.

"You want to sleep here with me tonight, tiger?" Daddy asked, and before Dean had had the chance to answer, Daddy shifted a little, putting Sam down between them. "How 'bout it? All of us, together. Would you like that?" Daddy asked, and Dean nodded quickly. Daddy smiled at him, wiping his face and brushing his thumb over Dean's face, wiping away the tears. "Good boy." He said. "Good boy." and he kissed the top of Dean's head.

They did leave Mike and Kate's a few days after that, left school and Lawrence and Kansas altogether.

But it wasn't so bad.

Because Daddy was with them, and Daddy wasn't going away.

The End


	3. Soap Bubble Rain

It's Raining Soap Bubbles!

Disclaimer: I own nothing supernatural related. Isn't that sad?

Summery: John just wanted to spend the day with his boys.

A/N: Part of the Picture Perfect 'verse.

It's Raining Soap Bubbles!

Summer, 1985

John went through the list again, nodding to himself as he checked things off in his head. Raising his brow as he watched the next item on the list. No way in hell. Too much sugar. Sam didn't need help in that department, thank you very much. Dean's writing was getting much better though. No more mirror letters.

He pushed the cart over to the next isle, picking the cereal with the least bit of sugar he could find, and looked down at the list again. Off to the frozen foods section next. He hesitated a moment; he was really missing home-cooked meals. For a moment, he considered trying to cook something. Something that wasn't spaghetti, that didn't come from a box, something that actually required some work. And cooking stills. Which he did not have. Damn. The frozen foods section it was, then.

A woman tried to pick him up. He played dumb. Not his type anyway.

She wasn't Mary. No one will ever be Mary.

The woman was persistent though, following him around, smiling broadly, flaunting her fake boobs at him. She was harder to shake than a hell hound, so he finally asked her if she knew where the kids' toys isle was, saying he wanted to get something for his boys. Worked better than a silver bullet to the heart. John tried not to seem too pleased as he turned his back to her and wondered over to the kids' section.

He hung around there for just as long as it took him to go from one side of the isle to the other. Wasn't really looking at the toys. Couldn't afford them anyway. But still, near the end of the isle, something had caught his eye. John moved closer, hesitating. He stood there for nearly ten minutes, reaching his hand, hesitating, pulling back and still hesitating.

_Dean used to love this. Mary used to love this. They all loved it. Should he? No. Mary was gone. It wouldn't be the same. It wouldn't be…_ But in the end, he'd reached out and grabbed three, dumping them in the cart and going back to the frozen foods section.

* * *

"Daddy's home! Daddy's home!" 

John nearly stumbled as something latched itself firmly to his leg. He smiled down at his youngest, trying to regain his balance. He called for his oldest, passing the lighter paper bag over to him and picking Sammy up in his free hand. He grunted a little.

"Ooh, you're getting heavy." John said as Sammy wrapped his little hands around John's neck. "You okay there with that bag, Dean?" John called out. The grocery bag might have been a little heavy for the six year old. No answer was coming from the kitchen. "Dean?" John called out again.

"Yes, sir." Dean answered at last, coming out of the kitchen. John sat Sam down and put the other grocery bag in the kitchen.

"You boys stay here, I have another bag in the car." John said, turning for the door. "And I have a surprise for you." he added with a slow smile.

"A su'p'ise? What is it, Daddy? What is it?" Sam asked eagerly, firmly attaching himself to John's leg again. The kid was worse than Velcro.

"Wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, would it?" John asked. Sam considered it for a moment, looking up at his father.

"Come on, monkey boy, your show's on." Dean said, peeling his brother away from his father's leg and dragging him over to the bedroom to watch TV. John grinned when he heard his youngest ask his brother about his new nickname, and if it meant the surprise was going to the zoo. God, he loved his boys.

John put the last bag on the rickety table in the kitchen and started putting the groceries away. Sam had come into the kitchen in search for his surprise twice, until Dean threatened him with changing the channel. John grimaced. His youngest sure had a set of lungs on him.

"Daddy!" Sam soon came crying, "Dean's being mean!" he pouted, holding his hands up for John to pick him up. "Tell him he's being mean!" little Sam demanded.

"Sam! Get back here!"

"No!" Sam yelled. "And Daddy's weally mad at you!" he added indignantly.

"Sam," John said in warning. It was difficult, trying to explain to the newly two year old when it was okay to lie, and when it was wrong. Sammy looked up at his father, all wide-eyed and innocent, and John groaned. "Be nice to your brother." He said. Sam shrugged, pouting.

"Don't wanna. He's mean!" he said. "You can tell me the su'p'ise now. I won't tell Dean."

"Sam!" John warned again, and Sam sighed dramatically, wrapping his little arms around John's neck and resting his head on his father's shoulder. Damn. The Doomsday Weapon. The sneaky bastard. John shook his head, putting the little boy back down, just in time to catch a glimpse of his oldest. Man, that kid was quiet when he wanted to be. "Hey, kiddo. Get over here."

Dean got in the kitchen, eyes firmly on the ground, shoulders hunched. Kid probably thought John really was mad at him. John ruffled his son's blonde hair. It was far too long, long enough to cover the boy's face. "Hey," John said again, "You want to see what I got you?"

Dean did look up at that, and John really couldn't read the expression on his face. It was something like _reliefhesitationhappinessuncertaintyguilt_. So, pretty much why John figured that the parenting thing? Totally should come with a built-in manual.

John reached for the last bag on the table, giving it to Dean. Dean looked at John for permission first, before even considering looking at it. Sam, on the other hand, was bouncing on the balls of his feet, trying to snatch the bag away. Dean used to be like that. Before. Sometimes John couldn't even recognize his eldest. He nodded his permission and Dean looked in the bag. That was the moment John had been waiting for. From the moment he'd seen it in the store, from the moment he'd put it in his cart, he'd wanted to see the look on Dean's face when he saw it.

Dean wrinkled his face, looking uncertainly at his father again, and John smiled. "Go ahead, take it out." He said.

Still looking a little uncertain, Dean reached inside the paper bag and pulled out a bright red plastic bottle. John watched as Dean turned the bottle in his hand, watched as understanding dawned on the boy. Dean looked up at him again, and John gave him a little nod, hoping that was what Dean's been waiting for.

"Come on, we can go outside the back. There's plenty for all of us." John said, taking the other two bottles out of the bag, handing one to Sam.

Sam turned the bottle in his little hands, frowning. "What is it, Daddy?" he asked.

"It's soap." Dean said at last, a tiny smile gracing his lips. Sam glared at his father.

"No bath!" he said vehemently, and John had a sudden déjà vu moment. But then Dean laughed, and it was almost the way he used to laugh, Before. Almost. The closest Dean's laugh ever got to the carefree, joyous laughed from Before.

"No, silly." He told his little brother, who was looking suspiciously at him. Tricking Sam into taking a bath was a whole lot harder than it had been for Dean. "This is a special soap. For bubbles." The older brother explained. Sam narrowed his eyes, re-examining the bright red bottle in his little hand for a long moment.

"Bubbles?" he asked, wonder in his voice, making John smile.

"Come on. Let's go out back, blow some bubbles. What do you say?" they didn't say anything, really. Just rushed out the back door and into the messy backyard.

Sam shoved his bottle in Dean's face in excitement. "Show me, Dean! Show me bubbles!" he demanded, waving the bottle. Dean nodded, but had some problem opening the cap on his own bottle. John helped him, twisting the cap off of both boys' bottles.

Dean expertly dunk the little stick in the soapy water, and then took it out, blowing a long string of bubbles. John grinned wider than he did in two years as he watched Sam's eyes widen in marvel and awe, as he heard the toddler gasp.

"I wanna! I wanna!" Sam cried, opening his bottle and trying to blow bubbles without properly dunking the stick, frowning when nothing but a blob of soap came out. He scrunched up his face, eyes welling up. "Mine doesn't wok!" he sniffled, then started crying, "Mine's boken!" he cried.

"Sammy, use your r's." Dean reminded him, "And it's not broken, you just don't know how to do it right." The older boy said, and then kneeled next to his brother and showed him the right way. Sam squealed with joy when he managed to blow his first bubbles. He hugged his brother, spilling a generous amount of his water onto Dean's shirt.

They spent the next twenty minutes blowing soap bubbles at each other, with Sam shrieking with joy, alternating between blowing his own bubbles, and chasing the bubbles around, spilling his soap water in his excitement.

"More, Dean! More bubbles!" the little boy demanded, jumping gleefully and trying to pop more bubbles. He shrieked when a the soap from a bursting bubble got in his eye and started crying, until John picked him up, cleaned his eye, and blew some more bubbles at him.

"Sammy, you have bubbles on your head!" Dean laughed, pointing. Sam tried to look, which was funny onto itself, and then just shrugged and demanded more bubbles.

"More bubbles?" John asked. "Ooh, now you've done it. Now it's gonna rain soap bubbles!" the father promised and started blowing as many bubbles as he could all around the delighted toddler. "You better get an umbrella, Sammy, it's pouring!"

_Mary gasped, eyes going wide. "Dean, look up! It's coming!" The little two years old squinted at the skies._

_"What's coming, Mommy?"_

_"The rain clouds, silly." Mary smiled, and Dean looked up again, frowning when all he saw was clear blue skies._

_"I don't see any clouds." He said._

_"Oh, but they're coming. It's gonna rain real hard soon." Mary grinned mischievously. The toddler looked up again._

_"Nuh uh."_

_Mary raised a brow. "But if there aren't any clouds, how come it's… Raining soap bubbles!" she cried, just as both she and John started showering the little boy with soap bubbles, Dean shrieking with joy and trying to catch the bubbles in his chubby hands…_

"Come on, Dean, give your old man a hand here, would you? This is barely a drizzle. Show your brother what a real soap bubble storm looks like!" John smiled, winking at his oldest. His smile faded, though, as he caught the sight of his son's face. "Dean?"

Dean dropped his bottle, the remaining water spilling out. "I don't wanna play anymore." The little boy said, rushing back inside. John looked after him, frowning.

_"More rain bubbles, Mommy! More bubbles!"_

John sighed, cursing inwardly.

"More rain bubbles, Daddy! More bubbles!" Sam demanded, and John's heart clenched. He gave his own bottle to his youngest, leaving him alone in the back yard as he went after his oldest.

He found Dean sitting behind the bathroom door. The boy was getting too good at this, at hiding and sneaking around. He never would have found the kid if he hadn't heard the soft sniffling. This was going to be a problem when puberty hits, but it was too far away for John to care about it right now.

John sat on the bathroom floor next to his son, wrapping a hand around his son's small shoulders. Dean looked away. John pulled him closer, resting his chin on the boy's head.

"You know, I really miss her, too." John said softly.

"This is Mommy's game." Dean said so quietly John had nearly missed it. "Mommy used to like bubbles."

"Yes, she did." John said. "You used to like it, too." He added. Dean said nothing, his body still tense, still trying to pull away. "You know, Sammy was too little to really remember her." John added.

"I know." Dean said.

"And this, soap bubble rain, it was _her_ game." John went on. Dean remained quiet. "And maybe, by playing it with your brother… Maybe if we explain it to him, it'll help him remember her, too." John said.

Dean looked up at his father then, eyes brimming with tears and lower lip trembling. "I really miss her." He choked out. John hugged him.

"I know you do, kiddo." He said, a little choked himself.

"I don't want to play anymore." Dean said again. John was silent for a long moment, not sure what the right thing to say was.

"I think she'd be sad to know that." He said finally, hoping his voice didn't tremble. "I think she'd want you to play. I think she'd want you to teach Sammy, so that you'd both remember her every time you play." John said thickly. Dean looked up at him, doing his best not to cry. A couple of tears escaped though, big and warm.

"I think, your Mommy is up in Heaven, and she's watching over you." John went on. "I think it would make her happy to see you and your brother…" he didn't go on. Couldn't. Dean looked up at him again, raising one shoulder.

"I don't want to play anymore Daddy." He said. _Please don't make me_.

"Okay, Dean. Okay." John said, and for a long moment, he just held his boy to him, saying nothing.

"But I'll tell Sammy. I'll tell him about Mom and the bubbles. He can still play if he wants to." Dean said at last. John forced himself to smile, kissing the top of his boy's head.

"I think your Mommy would like that." He said, and held onto Dean when the boy hugged him. "Hey, you know, I bought ice cream, cookies and chocolate syrup..." John said a moment later, winking at his son as Dean looked up at him. "Ready for a duel?" He asked, wiggling his eyebrows. Dean snorted.

"Not much of a duel. You and Sammy always get ice cream headaches." he smirked.

The End


End file.
